Chapter 39 The Call That Saves Her
Something’s wrong.
Sofia runs toward us, her face pale as she pushes a wheelchair with Celia inside gasping, her hand pressed against her chest like she’s struggling to breathe.
“Unlock the door. Now!” I tell Rafe, who’s in the driver’s seat of the sedan.
“Got it.”
Once the door clicks, I push it open and scan the surroundings, noting no guards at the moment.
“What’s going on?” I rush out and meet Sofia as she lifts Celia.
“I don’t know. Things were fine, but she started wheezing. I thought she had heart issues, not breathing problems.”
A wet cough shakes Celia’s shoulders as she turns her glazed eyes toward me. “Y-You. Ren’s girl. Why are you here—”
The cough worsens. Her breathing quickens and shallows. Sweat drips down the poor girl’s forehead as I grasp her hand, finding it icy cold.
“Let me lay her down,” Sofia says when we get into the backseat. “Maybe it’s panic or stress.”
“No!” I grab Celia’s wrist and run through her visible symptoms. Thready, irregular pulse. Worse when she lies back. “That’s not it.”
Another wet, hacking cough wracks Celia.
“Fluid in the lungs.” I carefully position her so she’s sitting upright. “Get me the oxygen mask.”
Thank God I asked them to prepare for an emergency.
Sofia hands me the mask, and I loop the strap around Celia’s neck so I don’t lose it while I clip the pulse oximeter onto her finger.
The car shakes when someone throws open the door.
“What’s going on? Celia!” Ren’s panicked voice bellows in the small space. He reaches over us, trying to get to his sister.
“Don’t crowd her,” I snap. “Hold her hand. Let me work.”
My gaze flicks to our driver.
“Rafe, forget St. Augustine for now. Chicago Memorial’s closer. Call them and tell cardiology we’re inbound and unstable. Smooth driving. No speed bumps or sharp turns. They’ll make her lungs work harder.”
Rafe starts the engine, and the car moves. The Bluetooth speakerphone rings in the background.
“Aria, is she okay?” Ren clasps Celia’s fingers. “Stay strong.”
“Prison b-break, I kn-knew it,” Celia wheezes, her pale lips tilting into a smile. “I get to be a b-badass.”
“Shhh,” Ren says. “Focus on breathing.”
“Slow breaths, make sure she sits up, tilted forward. It’ll help her breathe,” I instruct as the oximeter beeps.
Eighty-six percent.
This is bad.
“Okay, Celia. I’m putting this oxygen mask on you. Don’t fight for a big breath. Just let it help.” My motions are swift as I secure the mask on her face and turn on the oxygen.
Her color returns…slightly.
“I didn’t have these symptoms,” Ren mutters, “even at late-stage myopathy. This isn’t the heart, is it?”
“It’s all related—”
“Duck!” Rafe barks. “Guard check in three.”
He tosses a heavy blanket over Sofia and Celia, then slams the center partition shut. Ren and I crouch as low as we can. The tinted windows should make it hard to spot us, but it’s a toss-up.
Outside sounds filter through the driver’s side window when Rafe cracks it open.
Two unfamiliar voices speak in Chinese, then in English.
“Father, this is private territory,” a deep voice says.
“Sorry.” Rafe’s voice is light and steady. Something clinks—beads—probably a rosary. “Do you know where 215 Mission Drive is? I have to perform last rites there and the map brought me here.”
More murmurs.
The second voice speaks up. “This is Mission Court, not Drive, Father. That’s two blocks down to the right.”
“Thank you. God bless you both.”
The window closes and the car moves again.
“All clear,” Rafe says a minute later.
Ren yanks the blanket off Sofia and Celia, then opens the partition.
“That clerical collar always works.” Sofia grins. “We should make you our getaway driver from now on. What happened to ‘thou shalt not lie,’ Father Rafe?”
He grumbles, “Transitional deacon. Not priest. And…I think He’ll give me a pass on the lying.” Rafe points up.
His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and I can’t help but notice how calm he appears—dark hair swept back, complexion normal—not someone who’s almost had a brush with death. But then, nothing about tonight is normal.
At least Celia looks a tad better.
“What’s wrong with her?” Ren settles next to me while I adjust the dials on the oxygen tank.
“Her weakened heart isn’t moving blood fast enough, so pressure backs up into the lung vessels. Fluid leaks where air’s supposed to be. That’s why she can’t breathe. I’d give her heart meds, but I don’t want to do anything that might make her worse without a full workup.”
Celia shudders, and I brush my hand down her back. “Easy. You’ll be fine.”
A few seconds of silence pass.
Ren squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”
My attention snaps to him. His eyes shine with moisture. Yanking down his mask, he lifts my hand and presses a soft kiss on my fingertips.
The intensity of his gaze floors me.
“It’s nothing,” I whisper. “I’m a nurse. This is what I do.”
He swallows. “It’s everything. I love you.”
Sofia gasps, and Celia jolts, but I don’t look at them. Instead, my gaze travels over Ren and the hair draping over his forehead, the smear of blood marking his neck—whatever happened inside the siheyuan must’ve turned violent—the breadth of his shoulders, and his swollen knuckles.
I’m in a getaway car with two criminals, a sick patient, and an almost-priest who seems entirely too comfortable with violence.
And I realize…there’s no other place I want to be.
Leaning forward, I close the distance and press my lips against Ren’s.
He stills.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
Celia isn’t leaving the hospital anytime soon.
Before Rafe rushed her into the ER, he recommended Ren and me stay behind because there was probably a manhunt on us.
The cardiology team took over and stabilized Celia.
And now, Rafe has secured a video chat for us since we’re safe in Elias’s compound.
The king of the underworld’s apparently okay with us hiding out in his place as long as he’s there to protect Lana.
Cavemen. They are all cavemen.
“She’s stable for now.” Dr. Kavanaugh’s voice travels through the computer. “But her heart is decompensating, so she needs inpatient management until transplant.”
“Any viable hearts?” I ask. “Or trials?”
As Ren asked before, I had debriefed Dr. Kavanaugh on Celia’s situation. Back then, there weren’t any experimental trials available, and he said he needed to assess her himself before he could treat her, which wasn’t possible with her being watched like a hawk twenty-four seven.
Forehead pinching, the man purses his lips. “There’s a potential donor case being evaluated. Young trauma patient in the ICU. Blood type compatible. But…”
The patient would have to be beyond saving, and the family would have to choose donation. It isn’t right wishing for one life to end so another can continue.
But Celia’s running out of time.
“This patient,” Ren blows out a breath and asks, “can you tell us anything about him or her?”
Dr. Kavanaugh shakes his head. “HIPAA. All I can tell you is it’s a shame. A very young life cut short by a drunk driver.”
My gaze darts to Ren, noticing the muscle jumping in his jaw.
“Not a bad guy,” I whisper, knowing exactly where Ren’s mind has gone.
He nods.
“You’ll keep looking, right?” I ask the doctor.
“Definitely. Will keep you posted,” he says. “Celia’s resting now, but she’s in good hands. You can call her later when she wakes up.”
After hanging up, Ren walks to the window of the guest suite we’re housed in. Stress pulls his frame taut as he rests his forehead against the glass. Moonlight carves his face in stark shadows.
Wordlessly, I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my front against his back.
His muscles loosen slightly. He twines our fingers together.
“That’s all I ever wanted,” he whispers, “to protect her. It’s why I became…”
A killer.
“The bastard’s dead. But it’s still…empty. In here.” Ren lifts our hands to his chest.
“You’re wrong,” I murmur.
Slowly, he turns and faces me, his forehead pinched.
I lift my hand and cradle his jaw, letting his rough stubble scrape over my skin. “You aren’t empty. Because you have me. Ghostface, Reaper, Ren Sima, all of you…you have me.”
His beautiful lips part.
“Do you regret it? Staying with me? You can leave, you know. Elias knows how to disappear people. You’ll be safe.” Ren cups my face, grazing his thumbs over the apples of my cheeks. “You’ll be away from all of this. No more violence.”
Wind howls outside. Tree branches and leaves rustle.
Closing my eyes, I imagine myself back at the edge of the roof at Arcana & Bloom, staring straight down into nothingness, feeling numb. Then I let the memory of our dance on the rooftop at the Benefaction wash over me. His chuckle. My laughter.
How I was alive and cherished.
A small smile tugs at my mouth, and I shake my head. “No. No regrets. You’re the Clyde to my Bonnie, right?”
A grin splits his lips as he no doubt remembers us joking in the dark theater all those months ago. He pulls me against him, then presses his mouth against my ear.
“With a happy ending. Definitely a happy ending.”
He says it like he’s certain, and for one foolish heartbeat, I let myself believe it.